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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664212">a reminder of the cold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker'>templemarker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kingly Edmund, M/M, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:48:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There were trees everywhere: thick ones, tall ones, skinny ones, ones with bark that peeled off at a touch. He didn't know how long he'd been here, after collapsing on arrival, like some awful weight was pushing him down. The green light that fell through the dense thicket of the wood was strange to his eyes, though he couldn't place why. As he shed himself of armor, of gear, he could feel the pressure lifting from his skin; the light seemed kinder somehow.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Edmund Pevensie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>X-Ship - The Crossover Relationship Exchange 2019</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a reminder of the cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts">aurilly</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I defeated a two-day migraine to finish this story; I was absolutely determined to do it. aurlily, I was fascinated by your prompts and had a great time figuring out how to draw these two 'verses -- and these two men -- together. I hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something caught the Soldier's eye: a dull gleam, on the bureau opposite the target's bed. Two rings, one yellow, one green. They glinted oddly in the half-light of the evening, like the blood pooled around the target's feet, strange. </p><p>The Soldier had been on reconnaissance for twelve days, seven hours, forty-nine minutes. Standing orders to return to the staging area for exfiltration upon execution of target, and mission. The mission, as of three minutes, forty-four (five -- six -- seven) seconds ago was completed. </p><p>A voice in the Soldier's head said, <i>I bet he'd wanna give one'a these to his ma,</i> and the Soldier watched his own hand, the one not holding the Makarov, reach out to touch the rings. As his fist closed around them, he was blinded even behind his goggles by a light that seemed to encompass him entirely.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>§§§</p>
</div>The mask was gone, the goggles were gone; he'd lost one glove and discarded the other diffidently.<p>There were trees everywhere: thick ones, tall ones, skinny ones, ones with bark that peeled off at a touch. He didn't know how long he'd been here, after collapsing on arrival, like some awful weight was pushing him down. </p><p>The green light that fell through the dense thicket of the wood was strange to his eyes, though he couldn't place why. As he shed himself of armor, of gear, he could feel the pressure lifting from his skin; the light seemed kinder somehow. </p><p><i>Who was he</i> nagged a voice in the back of his mind. <i>Where is he</i>, the same voice asked. He didn't feel thirsty or hungry; his field kit with packets of kasha gruel was lost with his gear. He didn't miss them. </p><p>When he discarded his boots, he felt as if he could take a full breath for the first time. Strange -- it felt like a long time since he'd breathed this deep, and he never remembered air smelling so sweet, or so clear. He was down to an undershirt and trousers, both black but fading in color the longer he was here. <i>How long has he been here,</i> came the voice again, and he couldn't answer, so he laid down by one of the little ponds of clear water that dotted between the trees like holes in cheese. </p><p>He woke to the sensation of his nose being tickled; he sneezed, which woke him up fully, and in response, there was a high-pitched squeak. The small furry thing scurried away, and he swiped at it, grabbing it in the cage of his hands, careful not to crush it or old it too tightly. </p><p>"What," he said, and he was briefly startled by the sound of his own voice: rough and scratchy with disuse. <i>When had he last spoken</i>, and this voice was really getting on his nerves. He didn't fucking know. </p><p><i>Guinea pig</i>, came the same voice, almost grudgingly helpful, and he looked down at the small furry thing he held with such care and said: "This is a guinea pig."</p><p>The guinea pig trembled in his hands, twitched its nose back and forth. He put it down, gently, on the carpet of fine grass he had slept on without dreams, and watched it run, lost in a moment to the trees. </p><p>He rubbed his eyes, and frowned as he did; he wasn't supposed to notice any experience of discomfort unless it proved detrimental to the mission. "Fuck that," he said, words harsh in the silent wood, and rubbed his face until he felt some tension release. </p><p>He leaned back down, staring at the green light in the strange woods in some place where he felt no hunger or thirst; where he could feel some busy thing in the back of his mind knit at his thoughts furiously, though he didn't know why or how it had started. </p><p>
He would have stayed there indefinitely if he hadn't put his left hand in his trouser pocket, at rest; when he pulled it back out, he stared blankly at the two rings lying in the center of his palm. 
</p><p>
He took the yellow ring between his fingers and stared at it; it seemed to vibrate against his skin, the same pulsating sensation he felt caressing his skin here in this wood, though there was no wind. 
</p><p>
Setting the green ring to rest on his thigh, he palmed the yellow ring, drew back his hand, and threw it. A glint of green light hit it as it flew, and then it was gone. He took up the green ring, jammed it onto his first finger; after a moment, it seemed to work itself beyond his first knuckle until it rested at the second. 
</p><p>
Then he walked to the nearest pool of water and waded in. 
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>§§§</p>
</div>Another flash, and he woke up sometime later in another copse of trees. It wasn't the same wood: the light was a familiar yellow, and a breeze caught the edge of his hair and danced it into his eyes. He brushed it away and saw that the green ring was still on his finger. He took it off and let it fall to the ground as he walked in the direction of the sun.<p>He walked for days and saw no other person. He could hear different animals of the forest make their way through the underbrush, but none came near him. He drank water from fresh, cold pools and dug up wild roots, the sharp bite of their taste a sensation that felt entirely new. He washed his hands and feet with the fine gravel along the small lake he found. He slept against soft hillocks of moss and each time he woke he felt somehow <i>better</i>. </p><p>The voice in his head got louder and more frequent the longer he was here. Wherever here was </p><p>He had stopped counting the days, hours, minutes in the woods that brought him here; there was no way to measure the passage of time, as the green light never faded, and he had no reason to do so; the first thing he lost in that strange wood was the urge to follow his previous orders, as if they'd disappeared entirely from his head. </p><p>He was washing the roots he had gathered that morning in a cool clear pool of water when there was a gasp behind him; he whirled and there was a young female -- a girl -- who wore some archaic kind of dress, with green leaves from some kind of tree woven into the fabric and into her hair. She herself looked odd, like her skin was green too, but that had to be an effect of the fabric. </p><p>"Son of Adam!" the girl said, her voice high and alarmed. "Who are you? How are you here?"</p><p>He said nothing, just remained tense; he had no weapons on him, none immediately to hand, but he could still defend himself if she approached. </p><p>She didn't seem like she would approach. </p><p>When he didn't speak for another moment, the girl let out a soft gasp and darted away; he watched her go but couldn't track her progress far. He sat on a log of a deadfall tree with his back to the lake and ate the roots he foraged. </p><p>She came back, as he thought she would, and she wasn't alone. </p><p>It was only through intense muscle memory that he kept his face blank, his body tensed and ready, because there behind her were more young girls, who, in collection, were very evidently green. An enormous brown bear stood on its hind legs, towering above everyone else. Two guards stood in some kind of medieval metal armor, holding some kind of tall spear with a wooden shaft at the ready. </p><p>They were all curved as if in protective audience to the man who walked towards him, took the measure of him, and then stood thoughtfully some ten feet away. </p><p>"You are no Narnian," the man said, pulling off his helm and holding it under his arm. It clanked against the maille he wore. "Archenlander? Though I've never met an Archenlander who went without shoes before."</p><p>There was a pause, and while he threw away the remains of his foraging to the side, he didn't break his careful stance. The man looked him up, and then down, and something in his stern gaze seemed to soften. </p><p>"I see the marks of your escape, my friend," the man said gently. "Where have you come from?"</p><p>He didn't answer immediately. He didn't know how to answer the question. </p><p>Finally, coughing to clear his throat from disuse, he ground out, "Winter."</p><p>The man's gaze turned to stone even as his party gasped in shock. "Winter," he said, barking the word sharply. The others spoke in frantic murmurs, but when he raised a hand, they fell to a hush. </p><p>"May we help you, sir?" the man asked. "I vowed I would never leave another being to the mercy of Winter; no one should face it alone."</p><p>Another long pause, and he nodded his head, shoulders rigid and hands very carefully kept loose at his sides. </p><p>"Have the seneschal ride ahead and prepare for our arrival, and the arrival of a friend in need of succor," the man said. </p><p>The bear -- the bear that was talking, the <i>talking bear</i> -- said, "Sire, are you certain--"</p><p>The man raised a hand, firm but not unkind, and smiled. It was not a happy smile. "I am, Longinus, though I acknowledge your concerns."</p><p>With a bow that looked astonishingly graceful, the enormous bear dropped to four paws and loped off. </p><p>The man turned back to him, and his grim smile quirked into something more real. "Come, friend. We will bring you back from Winter. You are in Narnia now."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>§§§</p>
</div>The fire was low but not yet banked, and light and warmth from the braziers kept the small sitting room comfortable and intimate. They sat together in matching chairs, wood and leather contraptions laid with woven blankets for comfort. They had spent many nights like this, the King unwilling to leave his friend to the nightmares that had begun to plague his dreams.<p>The King asked, "Have you remembered your name yet?"</p><p>The man said, "James." He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of the burning wood, the spices that mulled the wine they drank. The skin of the man next to him, fresh with the sweat of a warmed body on a chilled night. "My name is James."</p><p>The King smiled, and, telegraphing each move he made, took the man's hand in his own. It was warm, and the man let the King's fingers wrap around his own. </p><p>"James," the King said. "I am honored that you share your name with me."</p><p>James didn't look away from the fire, but he briefly squeezed the King's hand. </p><p>"Edmund," the King offered. James looked over then; the King's eyes were a warm brown, golden and flickering in the firelight. "My own name."</p><p>James breathed out something like a sigh. "Edmund," he said. "I'm also, ah, honored."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>§§§</p>
</div>"FUCK!" he screamed as he was wrenched awake by the visceral horror of his nightmare. James panted heavily into the inky night, the bedclothes falling down to pool at his waist. He hung his head in his hands and tried to recover his breath.<p>A few moments later there was a soft knock on his door, and a croaked out, "Yeah, c'mon in."</p><p>Edmund opened the door slowly, ducking his head in, only to blow out a breath in visible relief seeing James awake and unharmed. "That sounded like a bad one," he said, knowing sympathy in his voice. "It's been twenty years and still the nightmare of the Winter Queen and her evils will throw me out of bed."</p><p>"Great, twenty more years of this," James said, so dry it could have been tinder for a fire. </p><p>Edmund came to sit at the edge of James' bed, setting his oil lamp down carefully on the bedside table. </p><p>"Come," he said, and as he had been doing more nights than not over the last week, James shuffled aside to make room for Edmund in the bed. Edmund drew them both to their sides and arranged himself so that he was a line of newly familiar warmth against James' back. </p><p>James didn't know why he found this so easily comforting. He had only known the King for a few weeks, and though he had been unfailingly kind and patient as James began to suffer both the lash of his past and the curiosities of the present, their acquaintance wasn't enough to explain why it had become easier to fall back into deep, dreamless sleep when Edmund was tucked against him. </p><p>It was somehow familiar, like Edmund fit some well-known shape that already existed in James' patchy, frozen-over memory. </p><p>As he closed his eyes, Edmund slipped an arm over his waist, solid but lithe and dwarfed by James' own metal one. </p><p>He was asleep in minutes.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>§§§</p>
</div>The ride into Cair Paravel had become a long, unruly procession by the time they were in sight of Cair Paravel. James, who had refused to ask any horse, Talking or not, to bear his dense, heavy weight, sat in a cart bedecked with flowers and garlands. A rabbit named Marcellus who was the size of a grown man wore a smart waistcoat and cravat as he guided the reins, calling out information to his two Talking Horse friends who had volunteered to drive the cart.<p>Edmund pulled up beside the cart on Phillip, who caught James' eye and rolled his own. "James," Edmund greeted warmly. "We're almost home."</p><p>"I still can't believe you call an enormous fairy tale castle 'home'," James said, running a hand through his newly-cut hair. </p><p>"I know no other," Edmund said with a smile. "I can't wait to be back in my own study again."</p><p>"Yeah, I'm sure that stack of books you keep talking about is waiting for you," James teased lightly; it felt strange but somehow freeing to be able to banter with Edmund; to want to do so. </p><p>Edmund gave him a mock frown that edged too close to his now-familiar smile. "Peter wrote and told me they're all eager to meet you. Apart from us, there are no Narnians in living memory who recall a Son of Adam coming from Elsewhere."</p><p>James tightened his grip where it lay against the leather belt drawn across his waist. "Are you sure," he started, paused, and started again. "Are you sure this is the best idea? I could have stayed back at the cabin, or in one of the outbuildings."</p><p>Edmund bent over and whispered something into Philip's ear, and in a clean, practiced move he slid out of the saddle as Philip trotted forward to chat with Horatio and Laertes, still gamely pulling the cart. A few skipping steps and he'd hauled himself up into the cart smoothly, slotting himself next to James. </p><p>"I know you're worried," Edmund said, low enough that only James could hear. "But the best healers in Narnia have already been called to Cair Paravel. My siblings saw me through the worst of my recovery from the effects of Jadis after the war was over; they will understand what you're dealing with, what you'll need. I know them. They are my family, and my co-regents." He dropped an arm around James' shoulders and something in James eased, enough that tension seeped away from tightened muscles. </p><p>"And," Edmund said, "they <i>will</i> like you," knowingly, as if he had figured out that James was just as worried his close-knit siblings, equal rulers of this <i>whole country</i>, would take one look at the wrung-out wreckage of James and hustle Edmund as far away as they could. </p><p>"Yeah," James said, unconvinced, and Edmund -- not caring if Marcellus, the gossipy Horses, or all of Narnia looked upon them, drew James up and into a sweet kiss; an affirmation of like to like, a solid promise towards the future.</p>
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